


"Platonic" Antagonism, or, the Unfortunate Versatility of the English Language

by obstinateRixatrix



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 'Lance shows his infatuation by being annoying', /egregiously/ self-indulgent, M/M, and that's honestly all you need to know, basically the most belligerent and least romantic love story possible, only rated teen b/c of one (1) use of the frick word, someone also left a bookmark with the comment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8515021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinateRixatrix/pseuds/obstinateRixatrix
Summary: The problem is, Lance has never needed any encouragement to be the walking disaster he continues to be.It’s embarrassing for everyone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> lmao I started stress-writing this yesterday and it looks like the stress just aint gonna stop
> 
> shoutout to sine, air, lex, & ric, thanks for giving this the ol' once-over even as I said repeatedly, hey guys, this is never going to be finished, hey guys I'll never finish this, guys,

Adjusting to castle life means having to carve out a space for themselves, first and foremost. It’s a pretty obvious first step, and everybody picks their room with their own varying rationale; Hunk and Pidge pick a room close to some area of interest, Lance gravitates towards his team, Shiro moves in closest to the hanger with their lions, and Keith moves in across the hall. The room’s smaller than his cottage, but the rest of the castle more than makes up the difference.

The second, not-so obvious step, is for everybody to carve out a space together.

Keith doesn’t realize it while it’s happening, but with how big the castle is, there’s paradoxically too much room to spread out. Everybody hones in on a few specific enclaves, a pinpoint of personalization surrounded by ancient and sterile walls. Some spots are unofficially designated as a common area, a place for everyone to vaguely orbit when there’s nothing better to do; other spots are monopolized by specific groups, or specific people, and there’s some unspoken agreement not to mess around uninvited.

Hunk’s workstation ends up falling into the former. Lance, against all sense of healthy self-preservation, makes it a place to hang out. Keith, against any presence of conscious thought, finds himself hanging out there with everyone. So, amidst sparks and gadgets and alien tech, tech with an established precedent of literally blowing up in everybody’s face, Keith hangs out. There’s even a couch that’s been dragged in for the explicit purpose of having somewhere to hang out as Hunk putters around whatever their project of the week is.

The more people there are, the easier it is to just sit back and soak in the presence being surrounded by humans again. For a very generous definition of ‘surrounded’. Also, sometimes aliens are there. The less people there are, especially if one of the remainders is Lance, it’s not. Easy, that is. If Lance isn’t commanding the attention of a room (or at least incessantly needling for it), he’s always finding some way of engaging its inhabitants.

It’s kind of fun. Maybe Keith’s suffering the aftermath of cabin fever, but when it’s just a flurry of undirected energy, when there’s a lack of life-threatening lasers being shot at them, Lance has a way of buoying the atmosphere in a way Keith can appreciate. Even if that way generally involves acting like a little shit.

At the moment, he’s fussing over his best friend, and Keith’s just sitting back and enjoying the show.

“Hunk, buddy, pal, light of my life, my partner in crime, you really have to take a break.” Lance peers over their shoulders at the tangle of wires they’re messing with, and the screen they’re trying to connect it to. “Wasn’t there an after school special about too much work, not enough play?”

“Don’t think it applies when the two are one and the same,” Hunk replies easily. “Ten more minutes, I swear I’ll be done.”

“Ah, Hunk,” Lance tuts. “That might’ve gotten me off your case if you didn’t feed me the same lie half an hour ago.”

“Lance, I love you, but please. This is made out of stuff that doesn't even exist on our _planet._ Some of it’s _organic,_ it’s _impossible_ for anyone on Earth to even _think_ about making this sort of biotech! Ten minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Nah.”

“Five?”

“Nope,” he replies easily, draping himself over Hunk’s back.

“Oh, no,” Hunk says, with all the stilted enthusiasm of a transparent script. “Would you look at that, I forgot the box I salvaged from last week’s repairs.”

“You mean the box of space-junk?”

“No, I mean the box of scrap metal,” Hunk corrects. “If only I had a kind, wonderful, considerate friend to bring that box to me, which I can’t get myself, because I’m in the middle of very time-sensitive technological monitoring of activity fluctuation.”

“I can tell when you’re just throwing out words to throw me off,” Lance says, but it doesn’t sound as reproachful as it should. In fact, he seems to settle comfortably into the scene as it plays out.

“I was so looking forward to organizing my box of metal, which would’ve definitely dragged me away from all this science I’m doing,” Hunk prompts.

“One of these days, you’re going to realize you don’t actually have to hoard so much space-junk.”

“It’s not space-junk,” they insist, “all it takes is someone with the right vision and even the smallest, most dinged-up piece of scrap can be—”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Lance rolls his eyes, ruffling Hunk’s hair until their headband slides askew. “I’ll go get your space-junk, you nerd.”

 _“Thank_ you, Lance.” There’s a wry lilt to their tone, not quite enough to be sarcastic but apparent enough for a tinge of insincerity. Lance doesn’t seem bothered; he just walks off with a jaunty wave.

The second the door slides shut behind him, Keith turns to Hunk. “I don’t know how you’ve dealt with him for so long. You have terrible taste in friends.”

“Should you really be saying that? I mean, considering you are, in fact, one of my friends.”

“You have terrible taste in friends,” Keith repeats, just as firm as the first time around, because that was probably the worst counter that could’ve possibly been made. Hunk snorts, but concedes easily enough.

Except, it’s not exactly a concession— more like some advanced tactical maneuvering. “Complain all you want Keith, at least you’re admitting we’re friends.”

“Yes?” Keith hedges, uncertainty corrupting his statement into a question. “We are. We’re friends. Was that… was that a question?”

And oh no, he wasn’t prepared for light banter to swing into serious territory. What a mess. Hunk seems to pick up on his alarm because they flail into a series of vague and frenzied gestures before giving Keith a light pat on the shoulder. “No! It wasn’t, not really. Maybe the first ten minutes we met, yeah. And you kind of… keep to yourself…? It’s hard to know what’s on your mind, sometimes,” they finish.

“I,” Keith tries, “I like you guys. That’s what’s on my mind.” And now that the atmosphere is thoroughly awkward, Keith has no choice but to carry on the momentum. “It’s nice, being around people again.”

“I knew that,” Hunk says, “I just didn’t know if you did.”

“I do? I mean,” Keith tries again, “of course I do.”

“It’s just, whenever Lance is around you kind of get into this weird, broody mood? I know he can be a little much, but I’m sure you could say that about all of us.” Hunk shrugs. “Maybe you guys got off on the wrong foot, but there’s really no point in pretending you don’t like Lance.”

“That’s not it, I’m not pretending I don’t.” Sure, Keith’s not the easiest person to read, but he didn't think he was this bad. At least he caught wind of this frustrating miscommunication before it got any worse. Hunk really did have terrible taste in friends. “Of course I like Lance.”

His admission is punctuated by an almighty clatter as Lance, standing at the door, drops the box of metal he’s holding.

“I knew it!” he yells, before anyone can say a word. “I knew you had a crush on me!”

“What,” Keith says, out of lack of any coherent alternative.

“My space-junk,” Hunk says, looking despairingly at the pile of odds and ends now scattered across the floor.

“Nobody gets that hung up over a “bonding moment” without some sort of personal stake,” Lance continues triumphantly. “I can’t believe it took you this long to admit it!”

“What,” Keith says again, except with an insistent undercurrent of desperation. The conversation’s been thoroughly derailed, and Lance, as the de facto conductor of this ensuing trainwreck, doesn’t seem to be giving much thought to the casualties he’s dragging with him. “What are you talking about, I don’t—”

“Aw, don’t be shy!” Lance flops onto the couch, nudging Keith with his elbow. “It was bound to happen. After all, it’s hard to resist someone as devastatingly handsome as I am.”

“Resist _what,_ there’s _nothing_ to resist!”

“That’s the spirit! Wow, you’re a lot more in-tune with your emotions than I thought you’d be.”

“What are you _talking_ about!?”

“Well,” Lance starts in a tone that foreshadows the onset of a headache, “the first step to understand what you’re feeling is to just let yourself feel it.”

“Lance.” There’s a hint of warning in Hunk’s tone, which means they’re probably on Keith’s side, but Lance pays them no heed.

“I’m here if you ever need to talk,” he says with endless magnanimity. A sentiment that _should_ be a touching gesture of friendship, except, Lance is absolutely being a little shit.

“No. I’m— I’m leaving.” Keith jumps to his feet. “You’re wrong and I’m leaving.”

As Keith storms off, winded by the last five minutes of complete and utter nonsense, he hears Lance say, “Isn’t he adorable?”

Keith can only hope Shiro never finds out about this.

 

* * *

 

Shiro finds out about it.

Keith can tell, because Shiro’s hovering at his door with a vague air of concern. Which figures, because news travels fast when there isn't a lot of people for it to travel to.

“So,” Shiro starts, considering Keith in a way that means he’s gauging just how much he should meddle. “I don't exactly know what’s going on between you and Lance, but I feel like I should be worried.”

“Whatever you heard, it’s just Lance being Lance,” Keith explains, and that’s really all that needs to be said.

Except it’s an explanation Shiro seems to find lacking. “Maybe I should talk to him,” he decides.

 _“Please_ don’t.”

“Keith—”

“You know how he is. I’m pretty sure if anyone brings it up, it’ll just encourage him.” Not to mention, Keith doesn’t want get to the point where he needs _Shiro_ to intervene in his nonexistent love life. The situation’s an unmitigated disaster enough, thanks. He can weather this absolutely ridiculous selective miscommunication, because in the end, _he’s_ not the one coming out of it with abject humiliation. No, this is all on Lance. He’s made his bed, and he’s the one insisting on tucking himself in for the night.

Keith’s subjected to another searching stare. “I’ll stay out of it as much as I can, but no promises.”

“Yep. Got it. It’s under control. I'll make sure it doesn't affect the team.” Keith edges towards his door, so close to the freedom of isolation, and yet, so very, very far.

“It’s not just about the team,” Shiro continues, unfortunately. “If it’s just affecting you, it’s still worth talking about. I just want to know, _do_ you actually…?”

“No. Absolutely not. Good _night,_ Shiro,” Keith says, before escaping to sanctuary.

 

* * *

 

Despite his “revelation”, Lance doesn't actually act all that different. A painfully misinformed comment here, an out-of-place tease there, but it’s easy to it brush off as Lance being hopelessly Lance. For the most part he seems content to let things carry on as they have. He’s just a lot more smug all the time, which really, isn't that much of a difference. Pretty anticlimactic. So Keith doesn't really notice any significant shift in behavior until it’s shoved right in his face, in the aftermath of a successful mission.

The mission itself is pretty textbook, as missions go; swoop in, fight Zarkon’s forces, free the natives, and there’s even a princess to rescue. She’s gorgeous, too. At least, she’s similar enough to other aliens previously identified by Lance as “a total babe” that Keith can extrapolate.

And yet.

After they’ve swooped in, after they’ve fought Zarkon’s forces, after they’ve freed the natives and rescued the princess, Lance acts… strange. Or, the fact that he doesn't act strange is itself the oddity. He’s acting like himself, instead of some caricature of himself that always manifests whenever he’s within a two foot radius of anything vaguely feminine and potentially available. Maybe a bit too effusive with compliments, but there’s a restraint that hasn't been there before. Or, maybe it’s that there’s no need for restraint, because there’s no aggressive pursuit as Lance flits through the crowd of grateful aliens. And Keith’s not the only one who notices; Pidge is also staring in open shock at the downright professional display.

“I’m surprised you weren’t all over her,” she notes when Lance makes his way back, giving him a pretty impressive side-eye. Privately, Keith agrees, but he keeps any and all thoughts related to Lance’s romantic inclinations to himself. He doesn’t want to add fuel to the pyre of Lance’s delusions of infatuation.

Not that he has to; said pyre is a self-sustaining middle finger to any reasonable system of mental connection. Logic passes right through him like sand through a net.

“Please, Pidge,” he scoffs. “I have a little thing called ‘tact’. What kind of person would I be if I put Keith though that?”

“Put me through what,” Keith shoots back, “sitting through another one of your failed attempts at flirting?”

“Poor Keith,” Lance continues, hand over chest in an overwrought display of egregious sympathy. “I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been, watching the object of his affection act so oblivious. I’m pretty sure I read a book exactly like this, actually. Such a pure, innocent love.” Lance puts an arm around Keith in a show of overt camaraderie. “Chin up buddy, I’m sure your prince charming is out there somewhere.”

“For a second there, I thought you were actually growing up.” Pidge pushes her glasses up, just enough to pinch the bridge of her nose in a display of acute second-hand chagrin. “I can’t believe I let myself even _think_ something that unrealistic.”

“It’s called having tact, Pidge.” Lance repeats, giving Keith a hearty slap on the back hard enough to be felt through armor. It's honestly impossible tell if this is some ironic performance of 'consideration', or if Lance actually believes the horseshit falling out of his mouth. A mystery for the ages.

“Thanks Lance,” Keith says, because at least nobody has to be subjected to witnessing Lance’s terrible flirting techniques.

 

* * *

 

“That didn't go so well,” Lance says, from under the mountain of rubble he’s buried under. “You alright there, Keith?”

“You’re supposed to be the guy with the plans!” Keith shouts, frantically throwing aside debris and ship parts and rocks of alarming sizes. “How is blowing yourself up a good plan!?”

“Hey now, there was more to it than that,” he replies with the mild haze of shock. “A lot of thought went into that plan. Besides, we did it! Wall’s gone.”

“So is _half the cave!”_

With the arm that isn't being crushed, he dazedly grabs at a piece of scrap metal within reach. “If we don't bring Hunk a souvenir, they’re going to be upset.”

It’s so unfair that Lance— dramatic, overly emotional Lance— is skipping out on all the panic and leaving Keith to pick up his slack. “They’ll be more upset over _you_ than over a pile of space-junk!”

“Scrap metal," he corrects, "and it’s fine. It’s fine, _I’m_ fine. After all,” Lance says, gesturing at what’s surely a broken arm. “I’m all _right._ Get it? Because—”

“Don't pun at me right now, you asshole,” Keith threatens. What he’s threatening, he’s not sure, but the more flippant Lance acts, the more stressed Keith feels, like the worst set of emotional scales imaginable.

Lance laughs, except it peters out into a weak-sounding cough. “Worried there, lover boy?”

“Yes!” Keith yells, ready to strangle him. “I swear, if you don't make it out of this alive, I’ll hunt you down in the afterlife just to kick your ass!”

“Keith, you charmer,” he murmurs, before promptly passing out.

 

* * *

 

It’s harder to brush Lance off, after that; his irreverence is grating in a way it hasn't been before. “It worked out fine,” he says, stumbling out of the healing pod. “I know I’m heroic and irresistible, but don't get too clingy now,” he says, patting Keith on the head. It’s bad enough his backup plan is always to throw himself headfirst into danger, now he’s using his shitty crush bullshit as a bullshit way to deflect completely legitimate concerns, which is bullshit.

Keith’s dangerously close to brooding as he wanders the castle hall, aimless after throwing himself at the gladiator offered less catharsis than he thought it would.

He’s heading into pretty unfamiliar territory, thinking about heading back before actually getting lost, when he almost literally runs into Allura.   

“Ah, Keith!” she says, too bright, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Just who I was looking for!”

“Why?” Keith asks, before he can remember that maybe he should at least try to be more polite to the princess-slash-leader of Team Voltron.

“Oh, you know, just thought we could take some time to chat.”

 _“Why?”_ Keith asks, deciding to forego courtesy in favor of finding out what the heck is going on.

“We don't talk a lot, do we,” she notes with some facsimile of innocence. “I was just wondering if you had something you wanted to tell me?”

Keith tries to think over the past few days, but he can't tell what exactly Allura wants from him. Has he done something she’d take issue with? “Not really.”

“So, there’s nothing in particular on your mind? Nothing you want me to know about?”

“No…?”

Allura lets out a huff of frustration. “Keith, I know we have our differences, but even if I’m not the first person you’d like to talk to, whatever it is that’s troubling you is better addressed sooner rather than later.”

“Our differences?” And once more, Keith’s at the mercy of someone else’s train of thought. Already, he can see some sort of imminent collision. “What do you mean by that, I don't— I don't have a problem with you.”

“You don't? But you…” Allura trails off, a rare moment of being caught off guard. The end of that sentence doesn't seem to be coming anytime soon, so Keith takes it as a go-ahead because now there _is_ something particular on his mind.

“Why doesn’t anyone know what I’m thinking? Just ask!”

“That’s what I am _trying_ to do!”

“Well, you’re bad at it.” Allura bristles, and wow, that could've come out better put. “I mean,” Keith amends, “I don't know what you’re asking when you’re not actually asking about what you're trying to ask about.” Judging by her expression, he didn't quite articulate that as well as he could've. So he’ll just lead by example. “Can you just… talk to me without the— the _subtext?”_

Allura looks at Keith, and thank god, something seems to click. “Alright,” she says, and there's no pretence, no diplomacy persona, it’s just Allura and Keith and the elephant in the room. But not for long, considering the elephant’s about to be evicted with the power of open and honest communication. Hopefully.

“Keith,” she says, “I’ve noticed you reacting to Lance in a way that seems more volatile than usual. I’m concerned that if these feelings are left unaddressed, it could negatively impact your teamwork, as well as the formation of Voltron. I’d like to take the opportunity to talk about these feelings, and how you can resolve them.”

 _“Thank_ you,” Keith says. Then as her words actually sink in, “Oh.”

Well, he kind of brought it on himself.

“I know he’s been going on about some infatuation of yours, and if we need to have a discussion—”

“That’s not what it’s about,” Keith interrupts. If he didn't want Shiro’s intervention, he sure as hell doesn't want Allura’s. “I don't really care about that. Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“Then what’s wrong? I won't know if you don't tell me. You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“Lance is just… he’s being frustrating.”

“I was under the impression that was his default state,” Allura says with a wry sort of weariness.

“It is, but he…”

Well, he’s not acting different, not really, but something’s off, jostled out of place. They should've settled into a comfortable friendship, he thinks, because Keith does like Lance, and Lance has to like Keith with how he’s constantly going out of his way to involve him in some nonsense, but instead, it’s like they’re still on different wavelengths, some weird distance they’ve yet to bridge.

“I don't want him to keep treating this like some joke,” Keith admits, finally.

“Well, what do you want from him?” Allura asks. It’s a good question, and it’s one he’s never really thought about. What does he want from Lance? It’d be nice if he stopped some of the teasing. It’d be great if they understood each other, for once in their lives. It’d be fantastic if Lance took the chance and actually listened to what Keith had to say, put some serious thought into how Keith felt, how he was _making_ Keith feel—

“Oh fuck,” Keith says.

 

* * *

 

Keith’s livid, actually. Not in the trigger-happy, table-flipping way, but in the simmering seeth of a grudge unleashed because if, and that’s a big _if,_ if there was the slightest hint of potential legitimacy to Lance’s wild claims, there's not much that can be done; by Lance’s hideously inaccurate account of events, Keith’s already confessed his undying love, which is just. Great.

If he was “volatile” before, he doesn’t know what he is now. Done with Lance’s shit, maybe. Enduring ridiculous needling about a nonexistent crush, he can take it with a roll of his eyes and a derisive scoff, but the fact that he’s all of a sudden uncertain about what’s going on in his head, it’s enough to throw him off. The only thing more annoying than preschool-level teasing is actually being _affected_ by it. But, out of some ill-conceived, misdirected masochism, Keith doesn’t go out of his way to avoid Lance.

He does the opposite.

Which is why he’s lying on the floor next to Lance’s bed, contemplating whatever domino effect of faulty logic landed him there.

“I have a chair, y’know,” Lance says, peering over at him. “I’d offer you the bed, but I wouldn’t want to overwhelm your delicate sensibilities.”

“I’m good.”

“Are you? Are you really?” Lance shakes his head in disbelief, as if he has the right to question anybody else’s behavior, ever. “Anyway, that's why I'm sure of it. I don’t know how, but Pidge definitely got the mice on her side. Even without the weird brain-link Allura has with them!”

“Uh huh.” How do people even tell the difference between friend-like and like-like?

“Which is ridiculous, because she’s not the one sneaking them extra food all the time! Obviously I’m doing it out of the goodness of my heart, but I’m appalled at their blatant show of favoritism, especially since it’s not for me.”

“Yeah.” Emotions are terrible, why do people have them?

“Are you even listening, or are you being hypnotized by my voice?” Lance rolls onto his back, letting his head suspend over the edge of the bed to fix Keith with a look of consideration. “Someone’s got a crush,” he snickers, and it’s the last straw.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Keith snaps, sitting up.

Lance blinks, frozen in place. He’s going to get a headache if he insists on having this conversation upside-down. “I’m— huh?”

“What,” Keith says, spitting the word out with vicious precision, “are you going to do about it. Are you going to reject me, or what?”

“I, uh,” Lance stammers, speechless for the first time since this whole debacle started. “I…”

“You, _what.”_ Keith glares at him, unleashing the full furrow of his brow, because he’s not about to let Lance get out of this one.

“I think that’s Coran!” It comes out in a rush, and it takes Keith a second to adjust to that conversational whiplash, which is a second Lance takes to scramble off the bed and to the door. “Calling me, pretty sure I heard him, whoops, he’s probably mad I forgot about promising to do a thing, you know me, wow, I better go and get right on that!”

Lance practically sprints away, leaving Keith alone in his room. A room that’s pretty soundproof, castle-wide alarms notwithstanding. So that's his answer, apparently.

 

* * *

 

Keith’s never going to understand why he gets the reputation for being hard to read, because Lance is _by far_ the most confusing bundle of contradictions he’s ever had to deal with. But whatever. Keith’s going to pick up the pieces of their broken conversation and use them to bludgeon Lance to an inch of his life, because _one_ of them should be able to handle their emotions in a calm and rational manner.

It’s pretty obvious that Lance isn’t going to go back to his room anytime soon, and even though it was an _utterly transparent_ ruse, Keith decides to see if he scheduled something with Coran. Even if he didn’t, might as well take some time to talk. Maybe cleaning with Lance offers some insight that can't be gained from just living with, eating with, and fighting with him.

Coran, _shockingly enough,_ doesn’t seem to be waiting on Lance for anything. He’s in a rare moment of relaxation, idly flipping through what’s probably a book, unless Alteans were too advanced for books, in which case Keith has no idea what he’s flipping though. It’s a placid atmosphere that makes Keith feel guilty about even attempting to encroach on it. Keith thinks he’ll try catching up with Coran some other time.

“Ah, Keith! There you are! Did Allura ever manage to grab you for a chat?”

Maybe life doesn’t give a shit about what Keith thinks. “Yeah,” he says. He has the sneaking suspicion Coran knows exactly what that chat was about. “Actually, I was looking for Lance. He said promised he’d do something for you?”

Coran doesn’t even need to take the time to think. “If he did, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“So, he isn't cleaning with you.” Not really a question, but might as well confirm it.

“Nope!” Coran laughs. “Must’ve been some sort of youthful misdirection. He reminds me a bit of myself, in that way.”

“He does?” Keith tries to reconcile the two in his mind, Lance and Coran, but can't quite get it. Sure, they have a similar sort of ebullient energy, a bombastic personality that belies a hidden depth of skill and awareness, but Lance is so… _Lance._ “How so?”

“Well! You might not see it now, but I was quite the troublemaker back in the day. Always getting myself into a spot of mischief.” Coran tugs a hand through his mustache, a light nostalgia misting over his eyes. “Trouble is, when you make that sort of reputation for yourself, it’s all too easy to get boxed in by it.”

Keith doesn't get it. “So you forced yourself into… being yourself?” He hedges, already knowing he’s off the mark. 

Luckily, Coran is always willing to explain everything he says in excruciating detail. “Ah, self. What a construct! Well, I can't say for certain how your human sensibilities align with Altean ones, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s a tricky thing to separate who you are, how you act, how you _want_ to act, and who you want to be! Especially when there’s the _slightest_ bit of misalignment in that mess, which there always is.” He shakes his head in retrospective reflection. “I suppose you’re more straightforward than Lance tends to be, but I’ve no doubt there’s a performative element to how he presents himself.”

Well, Keith wanted insight, and he got it. Even if it was presented to him in some vague, psychoanalytic mini-monologue. “But you… you’re fine with yourself now,” he tries, and hopefully he’s been following the thread of conversation right.

“It took some time, but yes. Life gets easier the more you understand yourself. Some parts of it, at least.” Coran stands up, moving to shelve the probable book. “Now then, I’ve been meaning to try my hand at a new recipe. If you’d like, you can be my first taste-tester!”

“I’d rather not,” Keith says.

“Suit yourself. I’ll get Lance to do it.” Coran nods to himself. “If I’m going to be used as an excuse, he owes me that much.”

 

* * *

 

It takes longer than it should to corner Lance. After all, it’s a castle of seven people total, and they’re a group that interacts pretty frequently. Meals, training, downtime, there’s always something that brings everyone together. But Lance is, as always, a cunning strategist, dodging all his usual spots, slipping off before anyone can say a word, and as much as Keith wants to get this over with, he’s managed to develop some parody of impulse control. His team’s rubbing off on him more than they realize, probably. He doesn't have the patience, but he strives for the focus to figure out the best way to talk to Lance with minimal casualties and the least amount of drama.

The solution comes easy enough.

He tells Hunk he wants to talk to Lance.

“Oh,” they say. “Do you?”

“Yeah. But he’s avoiding me.”

“He hasn't been bothering me as much lately,” Hunk muses, leaning against the open doorframe to their room. “I’ve actually been able to work for like, _hours_ on end, it’s probably not healthy. But also, you have to understand, as his best friend I have to ask: why is he avoiding you?”

“It’s _his_ fault,” Keith’s quick to point out.

“Oh, yeah, for sure, but again: why is he avoiding you?”

Keith huffs out a sigh. “The whole ‘crush’ thing blew up in his face, I think, and he doesn’t want to deal with the fallout.”

“Thought so.” Hunk rolls their eyes. “I told him, I said, hey, I don’t know _what_ you’re trying to pull but there’s _no way_ it’s not going to be a complete disaster.”

“You were right.”

“I was right! I swear, one of these days I’m going to sit him down and have a long talk about his terrible life choices. Too bad it’d take _weeks_ to even _list_ all of them!”

“Well,” Keith says, “I can get you started on this one.”

“That’s probably for the best.” Hunk nods to themself and starts walking off, gesturing Keith to follow. They stop at a random room, fiddle with the door a little, and they drop something into Keith’s hand. It looks like a small remote. “Push that when you want the room to be unlocked,” they say, gesturing to a button. “I’ll bring him over.”

Keith blinks down at the remote “You hacked the door?”

“Pidge helped. When you have a friend like Lance,” they say, by way of explanation. And honestly, it’s all the explanation needed.

 

* * *

 

It’s not long after that Lance comes strolling into the room, in the middle of some long-winded argument with Hunk. “No, see, if you look at a snake like it’s _one_ leg instead of _no_ leg, then—”

Whatever _ridiculous_ point he’s trying to make, he cuts himself off the second he catches sight of Keith, freezing in place. He walks backwards at a slow pace, as if moving with the speed of a glacier would render him invisible, but before he can make it out the door slides shut.

“Hunk?” He calls, back against the door, “Buddy? Pal?”

“Keith’s got the switch for the door. Deal with your problems, Lance.”

“No, no, come on, don’t do this—”

“Bye, Lance.”

“How could you!” he shouts. “You’re dead to me!”

“Deal with your problems, Lance,” Keith repeats.

He groans, sliding down to the floor. “You know what, I get it, point made. From the bottom of my heart. My bad. Open the door?”

“No.”

“Look,” he pleads, “we can just pretend that– that the whole crush thing was one long fever dream, we’ll never have to talk about it again—”

“We,” Keith starts, “are going to _talk_ about it.”

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.” Lance’s head drops to his knee.

Keith takes a seat next to him, letting silence settle as Lance continues to avoid the consequences of his actions. He _could_  take some initiative, maybe use this opportunity to talk about what's going on, but nope.

It’s surprisingly hard to push out the words, but if this is what it takes to end this senseless stalemate. “Look, you don’t… you don’t _have_ to like me.”

“I do!” he yells. “I do like you! That’s the problem! I like you so much, and it’s— it’s the _worst!”_

It’s got to be some sort of accusation— what else could it be?— except Keith has no idea what he’s being tried for; he’s an innocent bystander in the wreckage of Lance’s absolutely baffling life choices, because out of every possible response there could’ve been, this sure as hell wasn’t the one Keith was expecting. “What? What do you mean you like me!? Why are you so—”

“I don’t know! It’s just how I am!” Lance makes a sound of frustration, gripping his hair. “You should know this, you’ve— you’ve seen me…” he sighs, a rush of air that seems to settle around them. “You’ve seen how I screw up.”

Oh no.

“Lance,” Keith starts with a forced deliberation, doing his best not to be a bull in the china shop of sudden vulnerability, “you’re not a screw-up.”

He scoffs.

“You’re not a screw-up,” Keith repeats, drawing on some budding momentum and a dawning realization, “and you don’t have to keep yourself back by some— some weird sense of self-sabotage.”

“Do you even know who you’re talking to? Self-sabotage is what I do! It’s my whole _thing!”_ Lance gestures helplessly at himself. “There goes Lance! He’d sure have a lot of potential, if he wasn’t who he was, as a person! Too bad he’s so _Lance.”_ He curls into himself with a bitter laugh.

“You think that’s what we think about you?”

“I know it’s only a matter of time.” He lets out another harsh bark of laughter, a raw, grating sound to hear. “Look, I know you don’t _actually_ like me—”

“You don’t know that,” Keith shoots back. “Maybe I do!”

It’s a response that nets him an unimpressed look. “Alright, you might think you’re being nice, but trust me, a pity-date is the last thing I need. Or, if this is a weird variation of your competitive streak—“

“Shut up! _You’re_ the competitive one!” Keith can feel his face flush with a mixture of affront and embarrassment. Well, that was certainly one way to introduce the possibility. “I’m still trying to figure it out! Feelings are confusing!”

“Yeah, no kidding.” The flippancy of his tone means he’s definitely not taking Keith seriously. “Even if you are grappling with some weird… stockholm attraction to me, which, let me just say, sorry about that, it’s _absolutely_ misplaced. Not like I’ve done anything to deserve it.”

“So earn it.”

“What,” Lance says, and it feels so good to be the one yanking the conversation around, for once.

“Sweep me off my feet.”

 _“What,”_ Lance says, except it’s more out of disbelief than surprise this time. Which means he probably sees where Keith is going with this.

“Woo me,” he says, just to make it as clear as possible.

“Wh–!” Lance can’t even get the word out before he breaks down into hysterics, laughing in earnest. “Keith!? Are you even hearing yourself right now?” He’s wheezing, tears collecting at the corner of his eyes, and even as he struggles to breathe he doesn't make any attempt at composure.

“I’m serious,” Keith huffs, a little put off.

“That makes it worse!”

“Look,” Keith starts, with more patience than Lance deserves, “I’m about as happy with this as you are, but we’re just going have to deal with the fact that we like each other.”

“Might like,” Lance corrects. “You said maybe.”

“Fine, whatever.” Out of everybody in the entire galaxy, Keith’s pretty sure he’s the least equipped to deal with this mess of emotion, especially with someone _this obsessed_ with senseless self-sabotage. “Maybe we like each other. What do we do about it.”

“Avoid the problem entirely?” Lance offers, not even looking up. “Wait for it to go away? Try not to make a huge mistake that could ruin everything forever?”

Self-sabotage. All the time. Keith rolls his eyes and grabs Lance by his face, bringing him in close enough that he can't look away. “Whatever you're feeling, just let yourself feel it.”

Lance seizes up at the sudden proximity, and Keith realizes, belatedly, that dragging Lance close results in Lance. Being close.

“So that— that’s your advice, huh?” Lance takes a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” Keith says, still framing Lance’s face with his hand, but looser, almost a caress. Shit.

“Just letting you know, it’s starting to sound like you really do like me.”

“Great,” Keith says, before pulling him into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it got retcon'd but Lance's initial stats still make me laugh. They were so high. If that's what they stuck with we would've just had to accept that Lance had the potential to be the most competent character, in all of Voltron, if he wasn't so Lance,


End file.
